


Programmer Dad

by iammemyself



Series: Arkhamverse [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Programmer Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12715461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammemyself/pseuds/iammemyself
Summary: He's only scary until you get to know him.





	Programmer Dad

‘Programmer Dad’

By Indiana

 

 

**Characters: Edward Nygma, Riddlerbots (Alan, Nikola)**

**Synopsis: He’s only scary until you get to know him.**

 

 

His very first memory – the very first thing he ever _perceived_ – was that of a pair of eyes, staring directly into his.  He hadn’t known yet that they were _called_ eyes, or that they were looking over _glasses_ , or who they belonged to.  All he knew was that they were terrifying.

He had the feeling he wanted to get away from them, but he didn’t know how.  It was a relief when they lifted to someplace behind him, and a voice said, “Nikola.  Give him a hand, will you?”

Somehow he knew his name was Alan, not Nikola.  He didn’t know _how_ he knew that, only that it was confusing to do so.  Something gripped his… arm, and without any input from him at all he was suddenly looking up at… a robot.  It was comforting, somehow, and he let the robot pull him up and lead him away.

 _Who was that?_ he asked Nikola, once he’d figured out how.  He could conclude how to move based on what Nikola did, but speaking was more difficult, considering Nikola had said nothing during the ten minutes they had spent walking.  Nikola paused in counting out a pile of steel beams only slightly taller than he was. 

_Who?  Dad?_

That didn’t make any sense at all!  He’d been aware for all of fifteen minutes, but there was no way those eyes had belonged to a _dad_. 

 _I guess_ , was what he elected to say.  Nikola probably knew something he didn’t.  Nikola shrugged.

_I don’t know.  He’s just Dad, that’s all._

_Are you sure_? Alan ventured, and Nikola stopped again. 

 _I don’t know_ , he said.

 

//

 

Alan stayed close to Nikola for the first day or so, but he quickly learned that Nikola was… boring.  He didn’t seem to really _think_ about anything.  All he was really interested in was moving things, and all of those things were far too heavy for Alan to even budge.  Alan thought about finding his… he was reluctant to think of the man as his _dad_ , but Nikola had never referred to him as anything else.  There had to be a reason, even if Nikola didn’t know what it was.  Alan had considered looking for him several hundred times, but that initial memory gave him pause every time.  Until the last, that was.  That was when he got tired enough of watching Nikola.

Nikola had been unable to answer most of his questions; he didn’t know anything about their dad, or where they were, or even what the point of anything he did was.  Alan had asked him several times why he was so comfortable to know… well, _nothing_ , but Nikola only shrugged and went back to what he was doing.  Sometimes he just sat down and stared at the wall for hours at a time.  He was doing that right now.

Alan decided to take his chances.

Alan found him sitting at a desk some distance from the foyer, leaning over something he was using a soldering iron on.  He had a pair of green-lensed goggles over his eyes, and Alan was relieved.  _Hi_ , he said after a moment. 

His dad took a moment to look up, and when he did he pushed the goggles up to the top of his head. Alan wanted very much for him to put them back on.  “Hello, Alan,” he said briskly, as though they had previously been having an important conversation they were only now picking up.  “What can I do for you?”

Alan was taken aback.  What _did_ he want this man to do, exactly.  _I... was bored_. 

His dad frowned.  “What were you doing?”

_I was just watching Nikola.  But he doesn’t do very much._

His dad nodded.  “Right.  Well, I don’t have anything for you just yet but if you give me a few hours I will.”

_What are you doing now?_

His dad looked at the soldering iron.  “Repairing this graphics card.”

That sounded better than what Nikola was doing.  _Can I watch?_

“I... suppose.”  He was decidedly unenthusiastic, at least as far as Alan knew, but what _else_ was he supposed to do?

Alan spent less time watching the soldering than he did mentally comparing their hands.  Everything about his dad was weird, but his hands were Alan’s focus just then.  They were about the same size as Alan’s, but pinkish, with grease in all the wrong places.  He put his own hand out to touch one of his dad’s, but as soon as he had he found his dad yanking his hand away.  He hadn’t put the goggles back on and Alan could see the deepening of the crease between his eyes as he frowned.  “What are you doing?” he demanded.  Alan gripped the edge of the desk.

 _Nothing_ , he said.  His dad’s frown deepened. 

“Really.”

Okay.  Maybe it hadn’t been nothing.  _I was... I just wanted to touch your fingers.  That’s all._

His dad looked down at them for a moment.  “Why?”

_They look weird._

His dad didn’t seem to like that answer, because he just frowned again and went back to his soldering. 

He never did give Alan anything in particular to do that day, so Alan just followed him as he went about whatever he was doing.  He did that for a few days, and it was very fascinating to him just how different he was from Nikola.  Nikola was indistinguishable as even being alive at times.  His dad, well.  He talked to himself a lot.  If he was thinking he didn’t sit still at all; he would instead tap his fingers on the desk or readjust his foot against the floor or flick his pencil between his fingers.  He didn’t give Alan a lot of attention, keeping their interactions to a long, searching look if Alan did something he found irritating - at least he _thought_ he might be thinking that - and then going back to his work.  Alan wasn’t bored, or ungrateful, exactly, but he was beginning to wonder what he was there for.  Nikola obviously was there to help with the heavy lifting and such.  But Alan was smaller, and a great deal less hardy; in fact, he was just about the same size as his dad, only a little shorter.

At one point later in the day his dad put his face down on his desk and stayed like that for quite a long time; Alan later learned he was asleep, but the first few times it was a little alarming. He was almost as active asleep as he was awake, though this was more obvious when he fell asleep on the floor or, very rarely, in bed, than it was when he did it sitting somewhere.  The more he learned about this man, the weirder he seemed, though it was very clear to Alan he shouldn’t say that. 

Two or three times during the day, sometimes more but never less, his dad would take some small object out of his desk or his pocket and light one end on fire, and then he would put the other end in his mouth and breathe it until it had burned very small.  The fourth time Alan saw him do this he was so confused he had to ask, _Why do you do that?_

His dad had to stop coughing before he could say, “Do what.”

 _Smoke that thing.  It doesn’t look like a good idea._   He’d concluded from his dad’s expression during the coughing that happened most often because of this behaviour that it was fairly unpleasant.  His dad stood up and frowned, as usual.

“Because.”

_I don’t think that’s an answer._

His dad took a long breath and put his hands in his pockets.  He chewed on his lip a little as he looked down at Alan.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

 _Should I stop?_ Alan asked.  He hadn’t known that was a bad thing. 

His dad had already turned to go back inside, but he paused when Alan spoke.  “... No,” he said, and when he left Alan just sat there for a minute.  He didn’t like the questions but he didn’t want Alan to stop asking them.  What did that mean?

Alan learned, entirely through observation, that his dad was not a robot.  He was puzzled about that at first - if he was not a robot, what was he? - until the next afternoon, when his dad told him to go somewhere else for a while.  He left the room but remained in eyesight of it, and to his surprise his dad started talking to a group of people that looked much more like him than like Alan!  And they did the same things his dad did, they breathed and coughed and blinked a lot, and he didn’t know the name for what they were so he just settled on thinking of them as _organic_.  He was a little sad, though, to realise his dad was not a robot after all.  He seemed to fit the word _dad_ less and less all the time.

Once Alan figured that out, more of his dad’s bizarre behaviours made sense.  Organic life had to do things like eat and drink and sleep, and he wasn’t sure _why_ these things were necessary but he’d know eventually.  That was when Alan thought of something he could actually _do_.

When his dad woke up, one of the first things he would do was go to his room upstairs and make himself a drink using heated liquid and some small package from a particular box.  He had two boxes, one for early in his day and one for later.  Alan had seen him do it several times, so he was confident replication would be simple.  So he went on watching his dad as he slept, as usual, and when the time came he made the drink and offered it to his dad when he sat up.  He’d gone to bed this time, which made things much easier.  His dad accepted it, but then he stared at it like he didn’t remember how it had gotten there.  Had Alan chosen the wrong one?  He didn’t know what the difference between the boxes were.

“Where did this come from?” his dad asked.  Alan folded his hands in front of him.

_I made it._

His dad looked at him for a minute, then pushed his free hand into the back of his hair.  “And how did you know I was waking up just now?”

_I watch you when you sleep._

His dad stared at him some more and then rubbed at his face.  That, too, seemed to have been the wrong answer.  But his dad just said, “Thank you,” and pushed the sheet off his waist.

There were a few processes his dad went through every day or so which involved standing under a great deal of water and putting a sharp piece of metal against his face.  Neither of these made any sense to Alan at all, but it seemed like he was going to do both of those today and Alan decided maybe it was the day to figure out what the point of it was.  The first thing he learned was that if there was enough hot running water, it would create a great deal of steam that would stick to everything and dampen it.  The second thing he learned was that, as strange as he found _clothes_ to be, his dad looked even weirder without them.  His dad saw him sitting on the countertop immediately when he got out of the shower, but put his attention to rubbing the water off himself with something that looked more or less like a small blanket.  Finally, his hair sticking up every which way, he asked, “Should I even ask what you’re doing here at this point?”

Alan could not think of a good answer to that question so he hoped not answering it was okay.  As his dad walked by him he paused, then traced out a question mark on Alan’s midsection with his left index finger.  Alan looked down at it.

_What does that mean?_

His dad laughed.  “That’s _exactly_ what it means.”

It took Alan a moment to understand that answer, but once he did he realised it was a very good one, and very clever at that, and he felt a little more encouraged about all of this.  His dad was not such a bad guy, he was just… a little hard to get to, that was all.

He was about to get off the countertop when his dad came back, the – oh, it was a towel – tied around his waist.  He wiped off the mirror and took out the objects he used to take the hair off his face.  Now that he was thinking about it, he had a lot of questions.  _Do you not like having hair on your face?_

“Not particularly.”

 _Why do you like it on your head_?

His dad paused in putting the fluffy white stuff on his face.  “I like the way it looks.”

_So you like how it looks on your arms too?_

He looked down at one of them.  “It isn’t bothersome.”   He was about to put the can down and Alan said,

_Wait!_

His dad frowned at him.  “What?”

 _Can I have some?_   He held one of his hands out, and his dad shook his head and put a little bit in his palm.

“Why not.”

Alan stuck the fingers of his other hand into it.  It didn’t seem to do very much for him and he got tired of it before too long.  He looked around for some way to get rid of it, and his dad handed him the towel he’d used to clean the mirror.

After all of that his dad went downstairs and collected his laptop from the desk in the foyer, carrying it to a different room and putting it down on one of his other desks after he’d pushed enough money out of the way.  Alan didn’t know what it was for but he remembered he’d heard his dad talking about it to the organics from the other night.  It seemed to be important to them, though his dad had so much of it all over the place he rather thought it didn’t have much worth to him.  His dad yawned and sat down, and Alan stepped up behind the chair so he could look at the screen.  Oh, he was programming!  Alan liked to watch that.  Sometimes if his dad got up and left the room in the middle Alan would take a minute and fix some things he’d noticed could be done a little better.  His dad had not not noticed, exactly, but he seemed reluctant to believe Alan was making the changes. 

 _What is that for?_ Alan asked after a while.   He had to be a little careful with judging how long things took, since his dad seemed to experience things a great deal slower than he did.  His dad stopped typing.

“What is what for.”

_The programming.  What do you do with it?_

“Programming is a method by which one dictates the uses and purposes of a computer.”

 _And this is going to be for a computer?_   How many computers did his dad _have_?

His dad tapped his finger against the J key.  “It’s for an automated robot elsewhere.”

An… automated robot?

Alan stepped back from the chair, and his dad looked behind him.  Alan was trying very hard to put these pieces together and he did not have an outcome he liked.  If programming was ‘a method by which one dictates the uses and purposes of a computer’ and ‘automated robots’ were possible, that meant… that meant a computer was what operated a robot, and somebody _made_ that computer, and somebody _made_ that computer do whatever _they_ wanted to do, which meant…

 _You made Nikola dumb on purpose_ , Alan said.  His dad frowned a little.

“That betrays a fundamental lack of understanding about artificial intelligence,” was his answer.  And Alan had to admit he was right.  Alan did not know _or_ understand what artificial intelligence was.

_Okay.  What is it?_

His dad turned around in the chair so that his left arm was laid across the back.  “The ability of a computer to make decisions for itself.  As it stands now, however, a computer does only what it is told; artificial intelligence lacks the advancement thus far for a machine to be able to mimic independent thought.”  He was looking steadily at Alan now, and he was brought back to that first day when he’d come into awareness to see just those eyes looking at him.  They knew something he didn’t know.  They knew everything he didn’t know.  He suddenly wished he were as dumb as Nikola just then, because he didn’t want to know that.

“After Nikola,” his dad continued, “I realised that having robots to do the work that most of my employees are reluctant to do, not to mention are incompetent at doing, was optimal for my future plans.  The scope of which is… significant.  Extremely difficult to oversee and detail by myself, but I came to the conclusion that if I had a robot such as Nikola, though built for intelligence rather than strength, it would be most helpful.  And that’s where you come in.”

 _But you haven’t asked me to do anything,_ Alan said.  His dad folded his fingers together without moving his arm from the chair.

“No.  Because you exhibit a capacity for independent thought I was not expecting.  I decided that, instead of giving you instructions, I would wait to see what sort of things you sought out.”  He pushed up his glasses with one finger to their bridge.  “You are far more intelligent than I had planned.  Your intended application would have been a waste.  But now I have run into a separate issue: that of your free will.  You’re less a machine than you are a person.  That inspires a whole gamut of considerations that were also not in the original plan.”

 _So you made me by mistake and now you don’t want me anymore._   He really did want to be as dumb as Nikola just then.  In his peripheral vision he saw his dad’s brows come together, and he leaned both arms on the back of the chair.

“Not at all.  You are a great deal more useful the way you are.  A mistake, yes, but a happy one.”  He tapped his fingers together.  “The dilemma lies less in your usefulness and more in your personhood.  I won’t pretend I care much for ethics, but upon realising what you were I became… preoccupied with just how I should be engaging with you.  If, indeed, I should have you do anything at all.  You’re perfectly capable of choosing what you want to do, and you know what you enjoy doing.  All things considered, I should just leave you to your own devices.”

 _I_ don’t _know what I like to do,_ Alan protested.  His dad licked his lips. 

“You enjoy learning things.  Being helpful.  Programming.  Yes, I noticed.”

He was even more clever than Alan had thought.  All this time Alan had been watching him, _he_ had been watching _Alan_ , and of the two of them Alan was sure his dad had learned much, much more.

“I wanted to build an intelligent robot, his dad said.  “I ended up with... with a son.”

Alan didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but he liked the way it sounded.  _Is Nikola your son too?_ he asked.  His dad firmed a corner of his mouth in thought.

“Technically.  But in not much more a sense than that.”

That made Alan very special, then.  He liked that too.  _Do automated robots mind being automated?_

His dad shook his head.  “They lack the intelligence to so much as know such a thing.”

Well, that sounded all right.  He couldn’t say he was totally okay with it, but from what he’d seen his dad didn’t _mistreat_ any of his robots.  He just let them do what he’d programmed them to do and that was all. 

“Are you satisfied?” his dad asked, and Alan nodded.  When he turned to face the computer again Alan stepped closer to watch.  At first he would tell his dad about little changes he could make whenever he saw them, but eventually his dad stood up in exasperation and Alan realised he’d done something wrong.

“Alan,” his dad said, opening the desk drawer and removing a box of cigarettes, “look.  That’s irritating.  If you really want to you can look over the code later.  But do not correct me over my shoulder!”

 _Okay_ , Alan said, in a quiet voice so his dad would know he was taking it very seriously, and his dad paused, the cigarette between his lips.  He took it out after a moment.

“All right,” was all he ended up saying, and Alan went outside with him and sat on the stairs as his dad paced back and forth along the porch.

Later that night his dad was reading at the desk that did not have all the money on it and Alan was watching _how_ he read, which was very interesting.  Everything he did was interesting, because there was some reason behind it Alan didn’t know.  Alan did things because he’d seen his dad do it, or sometimes Nikola but mostly his dad.  But why did his dad do the things _he_ did?  Was it because of _his_ dad?  Did he have a brother too?  He could and did go into this line of thought for hours and never got bored of it. 

 _What’s that book about?_ Alan asked. His dad did not even look up.

“I’ll explain it to you later.  Or you can just read it yourself.”

Alan looked at the books piled all over the desk and felt very... well, he didn’t really _know_ because he never had been before, but he thought he was excited.  _I can read these if I want?_

His dad frowned at him without looking up from the book.  “Of course.”

Oh wow.

He started looking at them, just pushing them off each other so he could read their titles, and he noticed all of them had a name on them.  The person who wrote the book, it seemed.  He stopped when he came to a book with his name on it.  _Hey_ , Alan said, and his dad glanced up.

“What.”

_This person has my name._

“Many people have the same name. You yourself are named after someone else.”

_Really?  Can I meet him?_

His dad sat up straight and rubbed his eyes.  “He’s dead.”

 _Oh_.  Alan didn’t know what that meant but he guessed it meant his answer was no.  _Why did you name me after him?_

“He was a man I admired,” his dad answered.  “A programmer and cryptographer who turned the tide of WWII.”

Even if he was dead, Alan decided he would have liked him.  _Do you have a book about him?_

“Not here.”

 _Do_ you _have a name?_

His dad sighed and emphatically turned a page in his book.  “Yes.  It’s Edward.”

_Were you named after someone?_

“No,” his dad said, a little too harshly for the situation, and Alan realised maybe he didn’t want to talk while he was reading.  He went back to looking at the books instead.  He looked up at his dad for a long moment when he thought of something else he wanted to say, and his dad took a long breath and sat back in his chair.  “What.”

_Nikola has only ever called you ‘dad’._

Abruptly his dad went back to his book.  “You don’t have to call me that.”

Alan tilted his head in a way he thought demonstrated confusion.  _But you said I was your son.  That makes –_

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alan couldn’t argue with that, because it was true.  But he didn’t like the sound of it.  As it stood, there wasn’t a whole lot tying them together: Alan was a robot and his dad was not, his dad needed to eat and sleep and breathe and Alan did not; they didn’t even speak the same language.  Those two titles, ‘dad’ and ‘son’… they were the only things Alan could find that connected them.  Without those, then –

But his dad already, inherently _had_ the title.  His willingness to give it up meant something Alan didn’t understand.  Right now.  He would, eventually.  But just because he was willing to give it up didn’t mean _Alan_ had to give it up.  And he decided right then he wasn’t going to. 

 

//

 

Alan still watched his dad very closely, but now Alan would bring a book with him in case he needed it.  Sometimes he did.  His dad did not really like it when Alan read his code over his shoulder, so Alan would sit on the desk with his book instead.  Sometimes his dad left the room and Alan didn’t notice, and most of the time he was unable to find him again.  He hoped his dad wasn’t hiding from him or anything; it was honestly very hard to tell.  The last time, though, he did find him, and he thought maybe he understood a little why his dad might be hiding. 

He was in the basement in the other building where the automated robot was going, but instead of being at the computer like he usually was, he was on his knees on the floor.  In front of him was a series of numbers written out with green paint.  Alan knew exactly what it was – it was pi, sort of – but he didn’t think that was the important part.  His dad looked upset.  And also tired.  He always looked tired but it seemed like being sad made him even _more_ tired.

Alan sat down next to him and tried to think of a solution.  What did you say to someone to help them when you didn’t know what was wrong, or why?  He was going to have to make his best guess. 

 _It’s okay, Dad,_ he said, and his dad looked at him sharply.  He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes were still frightening, but not because they knew something Alan didn’t.  No, this time it was because his dad thought _Alan_ knew something _he_ didn’t, and he didn’t.  He didn’t know anything.  He was just guessing!

“I told you not to – you don’t have to call me that,” his dad said, and he snatched up his glasses and stood.

But why didn’t he want Alan to call him dad?  _Don’t you want to be my dad?_ he asked.  His dad didn’t answer, he just opened his mouth and then closed it again.  Alan let him leave this time.  He looked at the numbers on the floor and tried to think.

He both did and did not want to be Alan’s dad at the same time.  Alan did not know very much, but he did know he couldn’t be both.  Maybe Alan shouldn’t have been trying so hard to be his son.  It _was_ a little silly, he thought, to want a dad when he didn’t even really know what that was. 

_But I want a dad._

He wrapped the fingers of one hand around his opposite thumb.  There _had_ to be a clear answer here.  It was there, he just had to think it through. 

Oh.  Wait.  His dad had said he had ‘ended up with a son’.  That was, he had not _planned_ for one.  He had also said Nikola was only his son in the technical sense.  And then there was...

He sat up straight.  _Now_ he got it.  His dad _did_ want to be his dad.  But he didn’t know _how_!  Well, that was okay.  Alan didn’t know how to be a son!  As long as they tried together, it would all work out.

It took him twenty minutes or so, but he did find his dad back upstairs at the desk with all the books on it.  He was eating a fruit salad and looking through a pile of blueprints.  He still didn’t look all that happy but, now he was thinking about it, he realised his dad never really did.  He climbed up on the desk and asked, _What’s this for?_

His dad paused and put his fork down.  It had a grape on it.  “It’s a mechanical exoskeleton for myself.”

 _Oh_!  Alan bent over to look at it more closely.  _So you can be a robot!_

His dad laughed a little.  “What?  I don’t want to be a robot.”

_Why not?_

His dad sat back in his chair and pushed the grape off his fork.  “There’s no point in wanting to be something you’re not.  It’s a useless waste of time.”

That did make sense.  Before Alan could tell him he understood, his dad went on, “I have another meeting tonight.”

Alan nodded, and before he could say anything _again_ he was interrupted.  “You can… there’s no need to leave this time.  Just… keep to yourself.” 

 _Okay_! Alan said, and he clasped his hands together in his excitement.  His dad smiled, just a little bit.  But it made Alan very happy.  He would have liked it very much if he could have made his dad smile all the time.  But he reminded himself that he didn’t know anything about him, really, and once he figured it all out it would be much easier.

The content of the meeting was not all that thrilling – his dad was mostly just giving a lot of other people work to do, and whenever they tried to argue with him he just stared at them until they stopped talking – but he was thrilled to have been invited.  He watched their mannerisms and listened to their voices very carefully.  Everyone seemed to have different ways of conveying the same ideas, or even the same emotions, and he concluded from most of it that these people were _scared_ of his dad.  This puzzled Alan.  He could admit to being afraid of him, a little bit, but only because he hadn’t known him yet.  Surely these people knew him better than Alan did?  Alan hadn’t been alive that long.

Afterward his dad came back after waving the group out and said, “Well?  Did that satisfy your curiosity?”  He took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it. 

_They seemed afraid of you._

His dad snorted.  “They damn well better be.”

Alan tilted his head.  _You…_ want _them to be afraid of you?_

After a long inhale of the cigarette, his dad answered, “They work for me.  They do their jobs with markedly less vigour if they are not convinced of the consequences for failing me.”

_If I do something badly, will you want me to be afraid of you?_

“No,” his dad answered immediately, his browline creasing.  “Of course not.”  He walked over to his desk and looked down at the bowl his fruit was in, wrinkling his nose at it.  “Catch this,” he said, and he tossed something across the room to Alan.  He caught it by closing both hands together, and when he opened them to see what he’d been given he found a grape.  He stared at it for a minute.

_I… can’t eat this._

His dad laughed.  “I would be very shocked if you could.”  And he picked up the bowl and made the trip to the kitchen.

Alan was unsure what he _was_ supposed to do with the grape.  It was pretty fun to roll it around, and it was also fun to see how much pressure he could apply to it.  Until it collapsed in his hand and he was left looking for some solution that was nowhere to be found.  He waited until his dad came back and then held his hands out.  _I broke it._

His dad pulled a square of cloth out of his back pocket and handed it to Alan.  He realised it was just like the small towel his dad had used to clean the mirror and carefully wiped the bits of grape off his hands.  _Why did you give me that if I couldn’t eat it?_ he asked.  His dad took back the cloth and folded the mess inside of a square. 

“You learn a lot more by doing than by merely looking.”

As if to further prove this statement, his dad actually started _teaching_ Alan how to do things!  He only had to show him everything once, which meant that he could learn to do a lot in a short amount of time, and not only was he doing that but he was _helping_ his dad as well!  He loved it quite a lot, so much in fact that he didn’t notice for a while that his dad had become slow and very quiet.

 _Oh, are you tired?_ he asked when it came to him.  His dad nodded a little.  _You could have gone to bed._

His dad just shook his head and yawned into his hand, standing up.  Alan watched him go before moving the laptop to face him.  He would look at what his dad had been working on earlier, then make sure his dad was sleeping okay.

 

//

 

“Alan?  Where have you been?”

 _Oh_! Alan said, surprised he was asking. _I was helping Nikola.  Were you looking for me?_

His dad looked away from him, and Alan thought he was chewing his tongue.  “I’m going to the store, if you’d like to come along.”

His dad was _asking_ him to follow?  He jumped up in his excitement.  _Sure_ , he said.  He knew what _a_ store was, but he would soon find out what _the_ store was.

He kept close to his dad as they walked, but looked around as carefully as possible.  He hadn’t realised he’d been living in such a closed space all that time, and the openness of ‘outside’ scared him a little.  And there were so many things he had no names for!  He almost wanted to go back home, but then he’d never know what _the_ store was.

The store, it turned out, was a much smaller building than the one he lived in, and it was a lot brighter and filled wall-to-wall with _stuff._   He looked at it all as best he could while not moving too far from his dad, and he had to wonder at just what all of this was for.  There was a lot of food here, and things to drink, but surely there was much more than anybody could possibly ever find a use for?

He watched his dad remove some slips of paper from his pocket and trade the man behind the counter for a box of cigarettes and a package of something he didn’t recognise.  His dad then nodded at him and he decided that meant they were leaving.  It hadn’t been a very eventful trip but Alan still was glad they were going home.  He liked to see new things, but not quite so quickly.

 _What is that?_ Alan asked, and his dad finished opening the package and pulled a long strand of the contents out, handing it to him.

“It’s licorice.”

It was a black twist about a foot long, and when Alan wrapped it around his arm it didn’t break.  When he pulled on it it stretched a little bit before snapping, and he was left holding two pieces of it and not sure what to do with either. His dad laughed.

“You can just drop it when you’re done.”  He was eating one of the ropes himself, which made more sense than what Alan was doing with it.  He shook it off his arm.

 _Don’t you have food at home?_ Alan asked.  His dad frowned a little.

“Yes.”

_Then why did you go to the store for some?_

“This isn’t... I don’t eat licorice because I’m hungry,” his dad said.  “It’s just... for fun, I suppose.”

 _Playing with it was fun_ , Alan said.  _Do you... know what else is fun?_ He said this last part a little shyly.  He was unsure of how his dad would take it.

“What,” his dad said.

_Doing things with you._

His dad didn’t look happy about that at all, but he didn’t say anything, and when he went to the kitchen to make food he still gave Alan a grape to play with.

 

//

 

The next day was a good day, except for the part where his dad wanted to turn him off for a while to give him what he called an update.  He tried his best not to be upset over it, but his dad must have noticed _something_ because he paused in whatever he was doing with his laptop and looked at him.

“What?”

 _I don’t want to be turned off_ , Alan said.

His dad put the cord down he’d been unravelling.  “It will only be for an hour or so.”

An hour was a very long time.  He grasped one of his thumbs and looked at the floor. 

“It will be worth it,” his dad continued.  “You’ll understand when it’s finished.”

 _Why can’t you do it with me on?_ Alan asked.  His dad was crouching in front of him with the cord and he didn’t really want to know where, exactly, on him that thing was even going to go. 

“You can’t… a computer can’t be operating during an update.”

_Why not?_

“Because it involves modifying the code in use, Alan.”  He took a long breath and ruffled the hair at the back of his head.  “If you’re concerned I’m not going to turn you back on, there’s no need.”

_I don’t like that I can be turned off at all!_

His dad sat on the floor, his legs crossed and his hands folded in front of him.  The cord was stuck someplace beneath his shoe.  “It’s less like being turned off and more like being put to sleep.”

_I don’t know what that means._

His dad took a moment to rub his finger underneath his left eye.  “Sleeping is a process by which the conscious brain disengages and the unconscious takes care of maintenance.”

Alan looked up.  _You mean you turn off every day?_

He nodded momentarily.  “You could put it like that.”

_Why don’t you just stay on?_

“I can’t,” his dad answered, and he licked his lower lip.  “Sleep is a required component of organic life.  I literally cannot avoid it, and if I made a serious attempt at doing so, it would lead me into a downward spiral of insanity that would end in my death.”

 _Oh_ , Alan said.  That didn’t sound good.  _How do you wake up again?_

“The brain knows when it’s time, in an ideal situation.  Listen.  If you truly do not want this, I won’t give it to you.  But I believe you will once you have it.”

 _Okay_.  And he let his dad plug the cord in somewhere around his back even though he still wasn’t really sure about all of this.  How would _his_ brain know when it was time, if he’d never been asleep before?  He almost asked his dad to stop, until he came back around in front of Alan and crouched in front of him again.  He was looking Alan in the eye, and he still knew everything that Alan didn’t, but he wasn’t _scared_ of it, this time.  It was… a _good_ thing, because that meant he’d always have someone to turn to, right?

“You’ll barely notice you were gone,” his dad told him, and Alan nodded. 

And he really didn’t.  It was just like having his eyes turned off for one second and then turned back on again.  It wasn’t so bad, and now he felt a little silly for having been so upset about it.  He looked around to see his dad sitting at his desk, writing on a piece of paper, and he went to stand up but when he put his hand on the floor to help him there was something _weird_ about it and he yanked it back and looked at it.  He didn’t think this was a very good update at all!

 _What happened to my hand?_ he asked, not staying as calm as he wanted to.  His dad looked up.

“You have the ability to perceive texture now,” he answered.  “Only in your hands.  Touch things lightly and it won’t be so overwhelming.”

Alan did that, just putting his fingers a little bit on the floor and moving them along it, and… it was very odd.  He wasn’t sure if he liked it yet.  _Can you do this_? he asked.

“Yes.  You couldn’t initially because it seemed more trouble than it was worth.  I changed my mind.”  And he got up to collect his computer and cord so Alan didn’t have to sit there anymore.

Alan went around for a few hours after that trying out his new ability, running his hands over everything he could reach.  Which was a lot.  The harder part was figuring out which words went with which textures, and he wasn’t sure he had all of them right.  He did like it, though.  He liked it a lot.

When he decided he’d had enough he went to find his dad.  He wasn’t at his desk or at any of the usual places, so Alan went upstairs to look for him.  He was sleeping in his bed, and Alan felt a little sorry for him, since he couldn’t keep himself on if he wanted to.  He didn’t look like he liked it too much himself, either; his brow was all creased.  Alan went over to sit with him, as usual, and he did that for a few minutes when he realised he really, really wanted to know what his dad’s hair felt like.

Oh.  It was soft.  It was the softest thing Alan had found so far.  His skin was soft too but his hair was just so nice Alan didn’t want to stop touching it.  While he was doing that his dad seemed to relax in his sleep, and he even moved towards Alan a little bit.  This must have been a little of that unconscious stuff he’d mentioned.  His dad apparently liked to have his head rubbed, and Alan wasn’t busy so was very happy to do it.

When his dad started waking up Alan went over to the dresser to make his tea, and by the time it was ready his dad had finished coughing and was sitting against the back of the bed, his eyes half open and one finger poking into their corners.  Alan put the drink on the table and his dad looked at it slowly.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice uneven, and he coughed a little more before picking up the cup.  He put his hand into his hair and then withdrew it.  Alan sat down.  “Were you… playing with my hair?” his dad asked after a minute.  Alan nodded.

_It’s very soft.  And you didn’t look happy before I started doing it._

“Sleep is not always the most pleasant thing.”  He drank a little and then leaned his head back.

 _Do you want to go back to sleep?_   It looked like he did.

His dad shook his head.  “I have things to do.”

Alan was given a piece of bread to play with, which was also very nice.  It was fun to rip it up into little crumbs and roll them around, though cleaning it up was not really that great.  His dad read his phone while eating a fried egg sandwich, and when he was finished he went outside for a cigarette.  After a minute or so he asked, “Aren’t you tired of this yet?”

 _Tired of what_?

He gestured vaguely.  “Accompanying me everywhere.”

Alan shook his head.  _No.  I like it._

“Why?”

_Because I like you, I guess._

His dad gave him an odd look then; he seemed confused.  “Is that so.”

_Why wouldn’t I?_

His dad tossed the cigarette into the yard.  “Let’s not get into that.”

He then taught Alan to play a game called chess, which was very fun, and Alan couldn’t figure out how he’d won until he’d thought about it for a minute.  _You didn’t have to let me win, Dad,_ he said, and when he heard his mistake he sat back from the board a little.  _Sorry.  I –_

“It’s all right,” his dad interrupted, placing his pieces back on the board.  “Let’s put this away.”

Alan was so caught up in his statement he neglected entirely to help him.  _It’s okay if I call you dad now?_

He didn’t really answer; he just sort of shrugged and took the set upstairs to put it back in the drawer.  But the next time Alan said to him he did smile a little bit.  And that was all Alan really wanted.

His dad was a little hard to get to.  He was not always very nice, and sometimes he snapped at Alan even if he hadn’t really done anything.  But Alan learned not to mind it.  His dad never really _apologised_ ; instead he would give Alan a little more attention or let him do something he would rather have done himself.  And that was okay.  Alan knew he was sorry, even if he didn’t actually say it. 

One afternoon his dad had been particularly harsh, and not even for any real reason that Alan could tell, but trying to get clarification only seemed to make his dad _more_ upset.  So he decided to go somewhere else for a while.  He went outside and climbed up the building, and when it got too dark to read he sat there on the roof and looked at the people going by who didn’t even know he was there.  He wondered how many of them had difficult dads like he did, and what they did about them.  He would have liked for there to be someone for him to ask.  Or maybe he wouldn’t.  He kind of liked it just being him and his dad, other than the visits from his employees and Nikola wandering by now and then. 

He decided he’d go make the peppermint tea and see if his dad was ready to talk.  If he wasn’t, Alan would just leave him alone again.  He always was okay when Alan came back, though.

This time he wasn’t.  He was hunched over his desk, his fingers pressed to his face in the shape of a triangle, and his glasses were on top of his head.  Alan immediately wanted to leave the room, because all signs pointed to this meaning he was very sad and Alan really did not know what to do about that.  He put the tea down on the desk and turned to leave again. 

“Why do you do this?” his dad demanded, and Alan had to stop.  He only looked at his dad for a second.  His eyes were red and Alan knew that only meant bad things.

_Why do I bring you tea?_

“You keep coming back,” he said.  “Why do you keep coming back?”

_Why wouldn’t I?_

“Oh come now.  Surely I’ve snapped at you enough times for things that have nothing to do with you.”

 _Yeah_ , Alan said.  _I know._

His dad frowned.  “You know?”

_Of course I do.  Why would I think I made you mad when I know I didn’t?_

“I – “  He didn’t continue on from there, though.  He pressed the heel of one hand into his forehead.  “Never mind.”

 _I didn’t think you were upset with_ me _,_ Alan said.  _I don’t know why you think that._

“It’s not important.”

It _seemed_ very important, by the looks of it, but Alan decided now was not the time to pry.  His dad looked at the tea for a minute.  “Thank you,” he said, and then he stood up.  He wasn’t going to talk about it, then.  How was he going to stop being sad if he didn’t talk about it?  Alan tried to think about anything he knew that would be applicable in this situation, and he finally thought of something that might work.  He walked around the desk and gave his dad as tight a hug as he dared to.  It seemed the downside to having something soft all over your body was that it damaged easily, and he didn’t want to hurt his dad.  Just let him know that Alan cared a lot and he would be as patient as he had to be.

“Oh… dammit, Alan,” his dad said, and Alan didn’t know what the break in his voice meant but he doubted it was good.  He let go and his dad put a hand on top of his head, sniffing a little.  Before Alan could really look up at him he had put his glasses back on and picked up the drink, and the steam clouded the eyewear almost immediately.  This time his dad’s cleverness just made Alan sad.

 _Maybe you should get some sleep_ , he suggested.  This was met only with a bitter laugh.

“That would be impossible.  No.  Something else will have to occupy my time.”

And he went down to the separate building where the automated robot was going, and he spent several hours angrily working on whatever he was building there, and Alan just sat and watched.  His dad probably wanted to be alone, but Alan didn’t think it was a good idea to leave him.  Eventually his dad just collapsed on the floor, dead asleep, and Alan went over to rub his head for a while.          He woke up about an hour later, though he didn’t sit immediately.  He just lay there for a while, and Alan was okay with that.  When he sat up he rubbed one of his cheeks.  The hair was coming back there and Alan had to say he liked it better when his dad removed it.  It was too prickly.

 _Do you feel better?_ Alan asked when he seemed to be awake enough to listen, and his dad looked at him silently for a moment.

“I do,” he said simply, and he picked up his glasses and cleaned them with a corner of his shirt.  “Thank you.”

Alan stood up alongside him.  _I didn’t do anything._

“This time, you did.”

His dad smiled at him a little bit, and Alan found himself trying to figure out why he’d ever been _scared_ of him.  Why had he thought his dad _knowing_ things was something to be afraid of?

 _You’re welcome_ , he said, and for the rest of that day his dad let Alan help him without arguing even once.

 

 

**Author’s note**

**I know I have it in an earlier fic (which is now a later fic in the timeline) that Alan does not have the ability to feel texture.  This is hereby a retcon.**

**Edward, because he ~~is a big dummy~~ doesn’t know a damn thing about how parents and kids are supposed to interact, misses a lot.  Alan honestly has no idea why Edward thinks he thinks Edward is mad at him, but Edward is baffled he doesn’t think that way.  Also Edward’s parents never hugged him so ¯\\_(** **ツ)_/¯ when his son does it.**

**Edward’s kids always following him to the bathroom is a play on how parents of small children cannot even go to the bathroom without their kids coming after them in there because they haven’t learned about boundaries yet.  Edward also doesn’t exactly want to have the conversation about why it’s fine for Alan to be naked and not him, and all the fun stuff that goes along with that.  So he just ignores it.  Also I think dads showing their sons how to shave (or just putting shaving cream on their noses) is super cute so I had to get that in there somehow.**

  


End file.
